


Who Remembers The Old Gods

by Ratatoskr69



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, High Fantasy, I wrote my own pantheon because I was bored, Old Gods, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Mythology, Original Universe, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24542239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratatoskr69/pseuds/Ratatoskr69
Summary: The Old Gods have been long forgotten. Confined to The God Home they are left behind by the mortal worlds, and their return relies on The Steward and their visitors. This is the story of The Old Gods.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. The God Home

The temple was a massive structure, cavernous on the inside complete with arching ceilings and monolith-like walls carved from a single mountain. It had to have taken eons to chip and chisel away at the mountain until it resembled anything close to a manmade structure but there it stood in the middle of a hundred miles of sand on all sides. No one remained to claim credit for its construction and all throughout the annals of recorded history not once was it mentioned. It was not decorated in intricate carvings and statues like the temples of Men and Elves. Nor were there trophies of hunts and battles that so often decorated Orcish places of worship. From the outside the temple appeared a simple grey dome, hundreds of feet of dark grey stone with a single gaping doorway stretching twenty feet high. 

Upon entering one would come upon the main room which was presumably a sacred place to a lost culture. It was windowless and lit only by veins of glowing ore in the walls. No furniture was visible in this main room and several locked doors dotted the walls. As impressive as the temple was, it paled in comparison to what it housed in that main hall. A ring of eight giant statues each carved from a different material. Each depicting the visage of gods lost to time. If one stood there long enough -usually a few minutes- they would be joined by a presence silently appearing behind them. The being would speak softly in a voice felt in one’s soul and not to their ears. This being called themselves The Steward, the only living thing in the temple although they would argue that it is full of life that mortals just can’t recognize. The Steward was tall close to eight feet and draped in a robe of unrecognizable color and material. Some described their face as beautiful however “haunting” or “ethereal” would be more apt. To the untrained eye The Steward could be assumed to be a very tall Fae but who had ever heard of an eight foot tall Fae before. When questioned about themselves The Steward would respond with a wry smile and a short cryptic answer before changing the subject. They stated that they were there residing in the temple to hold knowledge of the Old Gods, who the many races had forgotten about countless millennia ago. 

If asked about these neglected deities The Steward would usher visitors towards the statues describing the Old God each represented. The first statue visitors were brought in front of was often that of The Elk, who watched over prey and predator alike and loved each living thing dearly. Its statue was carved roughly from some ancient wood and was the tallest statue in the hall. The Steward would then lead visitors to a statue of a woman garbed in plain clothes molded entirely from glass; this was The Maiden. She nurtured bonds of love, loyalty, and duty shared by all the races throughout time, she saw every kind act and kept oath. Next was The Centipede, carved from a solid block of malachite it coiled around itself covered in writhing legs. The Steward would explain that it was the keeper of gates and doorways, a watcher of travelers and the spirit of journeys. It looked after the wrought iron gates of castles and broken wooden doors of shanties all the same. While visitors would stand in awe of the handiwork The Steward would look towards each door in the hall and nod silently, before ushering their guests to the next statue. 

To call it a statue would be a fallacy, it was a large and very old looking book laying flat on a pedestal. It looked out of place amongst the massive statues and was often met with confused looks, sometimes guests would try to bypass it entirely to the chagrin of The Steward, who would pull them back and explain that this was The Book. Keeper of forgotten teachings and holder of the names of all beings living and dead. The Steward would tell guests that everything had a name and The Book knew them all. Often they were asked if The Book knew their name which only earned a barely perceptible smile and gentle nudge towards the next great idol. Smithed out of polished bronze it depicted the twin gods, The Gambler and The Thief. Twin fathers of orphans and lost men, they were the true owners of all stolen things and holders of all coin. If there was ever a bet made it was sanctioned by the pair. At their feet lay mounds of money and valuables offered by countless thousands of visitors. After setting down their own offering of coins, visitors pressed on with The Steward to a huge alabaster sculpture of The Revenant. A thin hooded figure whose face was shrouded in shadows making it impossible to perceive. The Revenant stood as the purveyor of life and death, not directly creating or destroying, just watching and guiding silently. It cleared paths for growth and change, for these are the ways of life, explained The Steward before continuing on towards the next monolithic carving. Sometimes guests would catch themselves staring into the void under that white hood, transfixed by the way it seemed to swallow all light surrounding it. Lastly The Steward led their visitors to a statue made of gold and marble. The Nimbus. A cloud of marble encircled by three golden rings floating above its pedestal. It resided at the eye of all storms simultaneously the parent of all forces of nature and patron of sailors who prayed for its protection. Visitors would often ask about how a mass of rock and metal floated unaided above the ground but the questions were only ever met with a shrug of The Stewards shoulders. They were not the architect of the temple or the effigies, only a simple caretaker they would say. Who were they really? A question guests often asked, but the response was always the same. 

“I am The Steward, the timeless keeper of this temple, I remember the Old Gods when no one else will. Gods cannot live without the belief that they do and so I remain here to believe in them so they may live and continue with their work in the mortal worlds. New Gods will come and go, but their lives and deaths are not woven into the folds of reality the way the eight you see before you are. I am The Steward and as my visitors I task you to go back to your lives remembering who loves the lilies and rabbits, who molds each earthquake and gale, who keeps vigil over your doorway, and who owns your lost trinkets.” 

Then the visitors would take one last look at the massive temple and the idols in it, and wake up now with a new purpose.


	2. Watcher In The Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of The Elk.

The Old Gods were not ones to obey the laws of linear time. They did not shape our world or any others for that matter but since the forming of life they were there establishing claim over their respective domains. Despite this, The Elk was regarded as one of the most ancient Old Gods. She stood vigil over nature and all the great and small souls within it. She was not responsible for creating anything in nature but she considered everything in it a child of hers. She knew by name each bird, stone, mammoth, and mountain; and she knew the color and shape of each of their souls. Upon viewing Great Horn however, one would most likely perceive a small girl, her skin covered in soft green moss and draped in simple cloth of the common folk. In that regard she looked shockingly similar to the Elves from the grand northern woods, aside from the two very sizable elk horns sprouting from her head. She loved nothing more than bounding through grassy plains, dark woods, and scorching desert; The Elk was one of the few Old Gods who wandered through our worlds openly, often wandering into an unexpecting nomadic tribes campsite to listen to the stories of mortals and sit around bonfires. She was gentle and loving, showing the same care and attentiveness for a sparrow as she did any human or elf. 

Rarely though was the wrath of The Elk incurred and those were dark days. Of the few mortals to upset her were poachers and industrialists. Who cut swathes of death and carnage through the land. Before the fading of the Old Gods, an abundance of stories of the fates of these wicked men were passed from mouth to ear. It was said that many a poacher’s mangled corpse was found tangled in branches high in the trees, gutted like the animals he planned to hunt. A small shadowy figure sprouting horns on its head could often be seen out of the corner of one's eye at these grisly scenes. The locals were smart enough to never touch the broken bodies, knowing these were food provided to nature by The Elk. No part of the poachers were wasted, the first to feed were the birds, they consumed the hands and lips so the evil mortals could no longer brag about their killing or hunt innocent souls for their pelts. To the scavengers went the entrails, and the flesh. The skin was left to be taken by fungal rot and the bones were left to bleach in the sun, slowly being swallowed by trees and vines. Lastly the heart which many believed housed the soul was burned and presented and left for bear cubs so that they may grow strong and steward over the forests while The Elk was gone. 

Those days were long passed and she sat in the God Home with the other seven, longing to return to their homes and duties. The Elk believed that her fall from power was due to the mortals expanding too quickly and laying waste to once pristine nature, she thought this was because she was not feared enough like The Nimbus or The Revenant, which is why she asked her monument in the God Home strike fear and radiate power. If the Gods ever had the chance to leave and flourish once again, The Elk planned on retaking nature for its denizens. She could not see the outside world but she could smell the stench of pollutants on each of the guests The Steward summoned to her prison. Oh how she despised each new mortal that was summoned there, each passing over her statue with hardly a glance. Fools, she thought, they could not know the raw power and righteous fury she bore towards the industrialist mortals. Neither The Steward nor the other Old Gods could imagine what went on inside her impossibly old and vast mind.


	3. Many Eyes, Thousand Legs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of The Centipede

A long time ago, before the construction of The God Home in the desert, every door had depictions of a Centipede surrounding it. Over the gates of indomitable castles and keeps, intricately crafted golden inlays of the Gatekeeper were fervently polished every day in hopes of earning its favor. Likewise in every hamlet rough gouges barely resembling the Writhing Watcher looked over every villager as they entered their homes after long days spent in the fields. Unbeknownst to most mortals though, was the fact that The Centipede didn’t care for how much time was put into its doorpost shrines. It never desired bejeweled statues in great temples, or intricate carvings of its likeness above every doorway. Truly The Centipede cared only for carrying out its divine duties. 

Unlike the other Old Gods it was closer to an animal than a holy spirit, and while it was capable of thought beyond mortal comprehension it preferred to operate purely on instinct. Mortals believed The Centipede brought good fortune on visitors and travelers however any actual divine fortune that men were bestowed was merely a side effect of being watched over by The Many Eyed One. It watched the comings and goings of every mortal and guided every traveler along the imperial roads and barely developed forest paths. Some said that the stars were its many millions of eyes observing the dealings of men. They said that the roads were its many legs, all leading to a new destination watched by The Centipede. It heard all of these things as it sat coiled in every doorway listening to the stories mortals told about its watchful gaze. 

While the other Gods were indeed very powerful, they were not omnipresent, The Centipede was though, it was in every home and scuttled along every pathway, and after millennia when it was forgotten and confined to The God Home it was saddened beyond measure. How it longed to see the world again but its many eyes grew cloudy and its many legs grew brittle. The Centipede could take only the smallest of comforts in the fact that The Steward made sure that there were a few doors throughout its new desert home for it to inhabit. It watched the visitors summoned to learn about it, silently wishing to go with them. 

The other Old Gods pitied The Centipede and did what they could to console it, The Maiden took special interest in making every attempt to cheer up the divine beast. She would spend days on end telling The Centipede beautiful love stories from the lives of travelers it once guided. The Revenant would whisper about the souls it guided to the afterlife and left in their care, assuring The Writhing Watcher that it had done its job well. The Gambler and The Thief would attempt to coax it into playing cards or dice and loved showing off all their collection of lost and stolen things. 

Alas without the ability to act on its instincts it retreated into the shadows of The God Home, invisible to the guests who passed through the great entrance of The God Home, Some who were more spiritually in tune would mention a presence lurking over the doorway upon entry, unaware of the thing that quietly scuttled behind them, hoping desperately for any news of the outside. 

The Steward saw this and would question the visitors on the state of the world and where they came from, prompting them to talk at length of the paths they took from city to city. The Centipede would coil around itself and listen to these stories clicking its mandibles happily while temporarily lost in the memories of these places it once watched with great pride. The Centipede hoped more than anything that these visitors would leave The God Home to tell the world of where The Old Gods went, and it waited restlessly to return to the world with its many eyes and thousand legs.


End file.
